Brazen
by ravynechyylde
Summary: Since there were so many things upsetting him presently, the naval man settled on shouting, "'Chicken of the Beach,' Sparrow?"


James Norrington, Commodore of the Jamaica fleet of the British Royal Navy and all-around upstanding citizen, took a gentlemanly sip of his brandy and watched the man across from him guzzle from his mug in a most common fashion. He sighed, and made a note to demand some form of recompense from Miss Swann. _To be Mrs. Turner within two days_, that irritating part of him helpfully supplied. He almost sighed again, but decided to glare at his companion instead.

"Really, Sparrow, do maintain _some_ measure of dignity when sitting at my table."

"Your table, mate? Is it _really_ yours?" Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl said in his most wheedling tone. It was successful in causing James' glare to deepen to a scowl.

"As I am the only man at this table in good standing with the law, _I_ will be dictating what is and what is not appropriate behavior." He allowed himself a superior smirk, even as he noticed something spark in Jack's expressive face.

"'S just that you sounded like me for a moment there, mate," Jack elaborated, and grinned at the officer's affronted expression.

"I trust the moment has passed," James sniffed.

"Come now, Commodore, no need to be huffy. Remember, I am 'the honored guest of the Governor of Port Royal for deeds in service to the crown.'" Jack emphasized the words with the proper aplomb.

"For 'defending a vessel under British sovereignty against danger from a ship sailing under enemy colors.'" James mimicked his illustrative hand motions and earned a quiet rumble of laughter. "Which I am sure amounts to nothing more than sailing headlong into the path of a fishing boat named 'Le Poulet de La Mer' and convincing the captain of a nearby merchant vessel that the fishing lines were actually hauling up a cannon, ready to fire, from the bottom of the sea."

Not expecting a response, James choked on his drink when the pirate murmured, "Was actually 'Le Poulet de La Plage.'"

Since there were so many things upsetting him presently, the naval man settled on shouting, "'Chicken of the _Beach_,' Sparrow?"

"'M just messin' you about, mate. Besides, your French leaves something to be desired. You want to purse yer lips more when yer sayin' _poulet_, savvy?"

James cut into the litany of 'pou-pou-poulet!' with a growl. "You are the most insufferable man, Sparrow. Not bothering to deny your dissolute ways – nay, you are enjoying my accusations – but instead focusing on correcting my French –"

"You saying the British Navy has a monopoly on French pronunciation, Norrington?" Jack retorted with deep amusement. "I fancy I've been to France much oftener than you."

"I see no point in debating that claim, pirate. No doubt you have made a name for yourself in every port from here to Singapore. But what kind of name? Thief, brigand, corrupter, convict. You associate with the worst sort of miscreants, claim whatever hasn't been nailed down, and are engaged in a constant game of cat-and-mouse with any and every local authority figure." He fell silent for a bit, but Sparrow didn't try to defend himself. "How can a man live such a dissolute, uncertain life?"

"Well, I suppose that kinda depends on the man, doesn't it, mate?" Jack asked easily as he tipped himself backwards in his chair.

"How so?" After another mouthful of stiff drink, the commodore considered himself prepared for the spectrum of reactions Jack's response might pull from him.

"Let's imagine, shall we, that each man – and woman, if we're being all fair and above board here –" he ignored the impatient motions of hands trying to hurry him along. "Each man has only so many beats of his heart before his time comes, savvy?" He peered at his audience to check –

"Yes, yes, Sparrow," Norrington returned irritably, "you haven't lost me _quite_ yet. _Do_ go on."

He took a swig of rum and sighed appreciatively as he warmed to his subject. "So then, it stands to reason that it's up to each man to do what he can with what he's got. In other words," here he leaned forward and, as he had done so many times before, invaded Norrington's personal space without seeming to notice, "will you be stretching yours out over 100 years, never spendin' 'em all in one place?"

If it was possible, Sparrow managed to get even closer.

"Or will you _indulge_ yourself from time to time, hmm? Maybe something'll get your blood racing, your heart skippin' along with a little more kick than usual, a little ahead of schedule, as it were." He waggled his eyebrows insinuatingly, then leaned back to allow some space between them. "So what shall it be, Commodore? 100 slow and steady journeys about the sun?" He ran his tongue along his incisor and grinned lazily. "Or maybe just half that. I have heard stories of men tiring of that relentless, glowing orb here in the Caribbees." Another long, slow pull of the devil's drink; James needed a large mouthful of brandy to return any semblance of culture to the table.

"Slow and steady wins the race, does it not?" the officer asked after a few moments of examining his interlaced fingers, his shoes, his fingers again.

Jack must have heard the quiet resignation in his tone, for he grinned a little more knowingly. "Aye, that may be so." He cocked his head and seemed to be waiting for him to go on. Was James really so transparent?

"And you, Sparrow? What did you decide to do, given this choice?" Ah, so he was.

Jack's eyes locked onto his own, appearing fathomless in the gloomy light. He must have leaned forward, for Norrington, caught as he was in that glowing gaze, suddenly found himself nose to nose with the pirate once again. "Me, I decided that I wanted to feel every one of those beats like a kick from a horse against me ribs, until I ached with them, whether it be from riding the ocean like I would a fresh colt, or darting between streetlamps so's I could keep whatever it was that I found." The dark, rolling slur was in deadly earnest. "And if that meant that I'd be givin' up a few years here and there, so that I might live life on me own terms, so be it. My choice to make, was it not?" James did not feel the need to mention that the Navy might lay claim to a few more of his years, lest the pirate discover his growing reluctance to play a part in it. Suddenly it seemed unfair that this man must be punished for such a simple wish. "Once you consider that, Jamie," the man leaned back once again, "it's easy to see 'twas no compromise on my part to take up the pirate's life."

James made a non-committal noise as Sparrow made himself comfortable around yet another mug of his... beverage. Hidden depths, indeed. "So... Sparrow..." he finally offered, voice stilted as he grappled with his thoughts. "Copernicus?"

"Yes, Jamie? What about him?" The pirate had reverted to his normal cheery self. The only evidence of their previous intense exchange was the glow, like banked embers, that remained in his dark eyes. That spark of intelligence, James mused to himself, would not dim until the man had reached the end of his 'allotment.'

Wait a minute.

"_Jamie_?" he asked with exaggerated pronunciation, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye," Sparrow returned agreeably. "That _is_ your name, is it not?"

"James. _James_." Enunciated to the best of his ability, so that there might be no confusion on this point. "While I am not sure how we came to be on a first-name basis –"

"Ah," with a small twirl of a be-ringed finger, "but we are not." He scooted his chair very deliberately forward. "My Christian name," ignoring the snort from his momentary conversation partner, "is Jack. As in Captain Jack Sparrow, the worst pirate you've ever heard of." A most pleased smile that James simply had to roll his eyes at. "Ooh, and seen as well, I believe."

Lest the pirate become any more smug, James relented and said, "Very well, Captain Jack Sparrow –" and found himself brought to a halt again by the clearing of a throat _that had been imbibing far too much rum to have anything caught in it besides a lifelong desire to put my knickers in a twist_, James thought viciously. _How am I to get a word in edgewise?_ And then he had a brief, strange vision of turning a word on its 'narrow' side and trying to wedge it into the conversation like plugging a hole in the wall. He blinked and decided to distance himself from the brandy for the moment.

Or was it Sparrow that had caused this momentary departure of his wits? Blast! What was the man saying now?

"Come now, James," said Jack with his best attempt at being placating, "surely we can leave rank out of this. We can just be two old friends, sharing a drink and good conversation."

"_Jack_." The voice brooked no argument. "We are not old, we are not friends, and we are certainly not old friends." A pause. "We are not sharing the same drink, nor even the same number of drinks."

"So that's what it takes to get you to call me Jack." Would this confounded pirate be forever enchanted with his own cunning? "And I note you have no complaints about the conversation thus far."

Norrington pinched the bridge of his nose and made a small, despondent sound. Jack's solicitous expression was quite at odds with the delighted twinkle in his eyes, and it was enough to bring James around. Apparently, a tacit challenge had been issued to see who would run screaming for the door first. Whether it would be to save one's sanity, in James' case, or to save one's life after causing one's conversation partner to lose his temper and attempt a hanging, in Jack's case, remained to be seen.

"Very well, Jack," he said with a tight little smile. "I must admit that I find you to be a most novel drinking partner. You spout opinions as if they were gospel while swilling the worst sort of rotgut imaginable, and that is certainly a rarity amongst the civilized set." Jack seemed un-offended but was brimming over with what would clearly be more of his own personal reality, so James headed him off. "If I might, I would like to ask you about something you said earlier." A permission-granting flutter of the hand that set his teeth on edge. "I take it you have read Copernicus' paper on heliocentrism."

"Aye, 'M familiar with it. A mighty convincin' piece of work, it is."

"Trust you, Sparrow, to so eagerly agree with any man who flouts the decrees of the church," the naval man scoffed.

"Now now, me lad, let's not be too hasty." Before a newly stiff-backed Norrington could sail into him for the use of _lad_, Jack said, "First off, when we're out drinking and having a nice, friendly chat, it's _Jack_, savvy? And secondly, a man would have to be a fool or a land-locked simpleton not to give credence to a man of science."

"And you, I suppose, are neither?" Not entirely sarcastic, but it got the point across.

"No, James," Jack replied with a serious set to this face. "A rum-soaked, sun-addled rascal I may be, but I fancy myself quite the seaman. And, as I've always said, it's a _very_good thing I'm not a fool."

"But how am I to believe one man against the weight of the entire church?"

"It takes a strong fish – and aye, a strong man – to swim against the current, mate. Even a dead one can float with it." Jack regarded him with a more critical eye. "As a sea-farin' man, you must concede that, were it not for science and the men who practice it, ours would be a terribly unrefined profession. Sailing about willy-nilly, never knowing to guide ourselves by the stars and the tides – can you imagine it, Jamie? Err, James, James." Corrected quickly enough after one glare; James was satisfied that time with this pirate had not softened him considerably. "As an intelligent man, you must further admit that the church, hallowed as it maybe, does not have a monopoly on truth. Plenty o' passages in the Bible that simply don't hold water." Draining his mug, Sparrow gestured for another. "And as a man of justice, you must be familiar with holding unpopular opinions."

Here James winced slightly, and hoped in vain that Sparrow had not noticed. "The law," he said with some difficulty, "is not a matter of opinion."

"Ah, but the law is nothing without someone to enforce it, and, once again, that depends on the man. The law can't do any good if the one enforcing it is not a good man himself. Er, unless she is, in fact, a woman. Ah, thank you, m'girl."

Sparrow busied himself with his newly delivered beverage, and James looked away in shame. _Good man. A good man._ The law said all pirates were a threat to good, civilized folk. They must be hung, if justice was to be served. Of course, he did not view any sort of punishment, or the resulting lack of welcome that often followed, casually; still, as a defender of the innocent, his duty was to uphold the law, and he knew it.

But the law did not have the kindly eyes of the Governor, or the deeply earnest ones of Turner, and especially not the fiercely determined expression of his beloved Elizabeth. Nor was he was insensible of the governor's remarks: his suggestion to let the pirate go had been as good as a pardon, or at least a temporary one. As he had the deepest respect for Weatherby Swann, James felt sure that this decision to look beyond the letter of the law was not done lightly or hastily.

No, James was afraid that what kept him awake at night was not a question of Weatherby's morals, but his own. He had felt utterly paralyzed, in a way that he had not been since leading his men into battle for the first time, as he watched the tableau unfold and a freshly released Sparrow cavort and caper around the assembly on the ramparts. The man did not deserve to die, he knew that much. Yes, he may be a thief and a scoundrel and a disreputable cad on all counts, but from their very first meeting, when all he had to go on was rumors and reputation, James had been prepared to condemn him to death. _Death_, for harboring nothing other than a shiny pink patch of skin in the shape of a 'P' and a hunger for freedom above all else. When had he become one of those stiff, unfeeling old men who had laughed at his own dreams of commanding a vessel, telling him with a spiteful joy that he had been born too low to be anything more than a midshipman? He had not allowed them to stop him: why had he behaved as though Sparrow's desires were so ridiculous?

He had not noticed that his head had bowed lower and lower under the weight of his own self-loathing until a solid hand grasped his shoulder and a rough voice said, "There there, lad. It's not an easy life that you've chosen." James felt sure he looked quite the lost little boy. Sparrow gazed at him intently for a moment, then looked at the nearly empty glass Norrington had been nursing, and his demeanor changed with almost comical speed. "The brandy, James! Where is the brandy?" He haled a passing barmaid with frantic motions and would have handed her the glass if James' own hand had not covered his and brought it to rest on the table again.

"No no, Jack, you are far too kind." The commodore waved off the barmaid. "I'm afraid I have stayed longer than I had intended, and must take myself home now." He rose from the table. "Thank you for the company, and I will bid you a good night." Despite this mechanical delivery from a man who moved, however reluctantly, in social circles regularly, Jack detected an uneasiness about the younger man, and a stutter that came from something deeper than a night of drinking.

"Nonsense, mate," the pirate declared grandly, rising himself, "I had meself a smashing good time. Least I can do is see you to your doorstep."

"Really, Jack, that's not necessary –"

"Now now, it's bad luck to let a drunk man wander about all on his onesies. I'll not have that hangin' over me head."

"But what about you?" Norrington frowned. His perplexed expression was remarkably endearing.

"I've thought of a way to counter that. The drunk man sees his inebriated mate home safe and sound, and thereby erases the bad luck from wandering home drunk himself." A decisive nod.

The crease on Norrington's brow deepened as he tried to work this latest logical contrivance through – now, which of them was the inebriated mate? It was when he started tracing vague paths through the air that Jack stepped in, hooked his arm through James', and waltzed the both of them out of the bar after tossing the necessary coins to the bartender and a wink to the barmaid, who seemed flattered despite herself.

It was a pleasantly warm night as the two meandered their way through the town. Jack was content to let James guide them to their destination, instead focusing on drawing the man out again from his brooding. "Have you read Copernicus' book, mate?"

"No, Sparrow, I – "

"We're still drunk, and still talking. It's _Jack_."

A sigh. "Very well, Jack you shall remain. No, I have not read it. I wasn't sure where it would be advisable to read it, considering all the controversy it has generated."

"Surely reading it – or anything else, for that matter – would not jeopardize your most honorable position in society."

"Well... the minister did address the issue on a Sunday past."

"And?"

"He cautioned the congregation not to be 'led astray by the ravings of an atheistic madman.' After such a stirring portrayal of Copernicus, I found myself disinclined to pick up his book."

"Sarcasm suits you, Commodore." Jack gave the man a cheeky grin. "However, I happen to know Cardinal Cartwright, of Portsmouth fame, keeps a copy of said ravings on his bedside, right next to his Bible and his gambling winnings."

James stopped short, and Jack nearly fell over when he tried to stop as well. "Captain Sparrow," he said in his most commodorial voice, "I must insist that you refrain from slandering members of the Church within earshot of me."

"Slander? What slander?" Jack looked wounded. "How's it slander to tell the truth?" Jack drew close to him again, and whispered conspiratorially into his ear, "I was there, mate, laying down bets with the man himself. He cleaned up real nicely that night. We walked home together afterwards."

"Wha-?" James reeled. "What do you mean, 'walked home together'?" Sparrow only smiled innocently and clasped his hands as if in prayer. _Impersonating a cleric of the Church of England_ ran through Norrington's mind suddenly, and he scowled.

"'Tennyrate, James, my only point was not to rile you up – thought it was an added bonus," Jack admitted hastily when James gave him a look, "but to convince you to read the book and judge for yourself. I believe you'll have a hard time refuting what he lays out. Unless," here he slanted the younger man a glance, "you manage to lose your faith in astronomy all together."

James grunted derisively and began walking again. "Unlikely. I put a great deal of stock in the science, actually." He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but hesitated. Immediately the pirate captain was there, jostling him with an elbow and motioning him with fluttering hands to elaborate. "Well," he said uncomfortably, with a sudden tension in his shoulders, "I've always loved astronomy. As a boy I liked nothing better than to sneak out of bed to the small balcony outside my room and just lie there under the stars." Here, the young Commodore rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and blamed the drinking for this embarrassing level of candor. "My mother always knew, but she never got upset at me the way my nurse did. She would join me on the balcony and gather me up into her arms, and we would just watch the night sky together."

"Go on, mate," the pirate said with something that, underneath the indulgent tone, could have been wistfulness.

"Not much to say, really," James shrugged. "I just remember... one night, she took my hand in her own and traced out the figure of a man amongst the stars. 'That is Orion,' she whispered to me. 'He is the only constellation I can truly see. The one thing I can give you, so that you'll never feel scared at night.'" He swallowed, and went on, "'I always wanted to go chasing him over the horizon,' she told me. She seemed very sad that night, and I never found out why. The last thing I remember of her was falling asleep in her lap out on the balcony."

The stoic naval man was silent for a good bit, until Jack broke the silence with an exasperated sigh and a tumble of words. "Orion the hunter. How bloody appropriate. Killed by the woman, a goddess actually, he loved and who loved him return. Tricked into shooting him by her brother, Apollo." A brief pause in the onslaught, and then: "Those Greeks were magnificent story-tellers. Excellent at dealing with unmanageable hair as well." Sparrow gestured to his own locks, which made absolutely no sense, as James was well aware that it was the Caribbean natives who were known for this styling. Still, he did not doubt that the Greeks could manage hair. Jack didn't lie: he just tried to catch you if you were lazy. "All sorts of tricks for unruly hair. Cutting's a last resort with them. Completely obsessed with olives, you know..."

As he noticed the taller man glaring at him, he stopped his prattling and lapsed into silence himself. "Was a nice memory about your mum, though," he finally offered quietly. "Wish I had some."

"Have you none of your own, Jack?" Spoken with a compassion that surprised them both.

"Memories of me mother, or nice memories?" Off James' confused look, Jack waved it away. "Don't worry yourself, James, whatever I don't have I steal, and whatever I can't steal I do without."

"But _Jack_ –"

Something pleading and imperative in that tone almost made him give in, but in the end he held up a hand and said, "Not tonight, Jamie. That's a whole diff'rent conversation altogether. Besides," he said, with a look that would do Puck proud, "I can steal a _lot_."

James stared at his impish expression before shaking his head incredulously. 'Jamie' again. He felt like they were on the verge of something significant, but Sparrow was not ready to sail that course this night. And damn the brandy for his lapse into metaphor.

"Well, Jack," he said archly, "you have successfully escorted me home. Consider yourself discharged of your duties."

"Very good, James," Sparrow responded with a flourish-filled bow. "It was a rare honor and privilege to converse with you."

"I am forced to admit that the evening was not unpleasant."

"I suppose we'll start with grudging respect, work our way up from there, aye?" the pirate said with a rueful smile.

"That is all you will be getting from me tonight, Jack. And I don't know that you will have the chance to work your way anywhere from here."

"Mmm, we shall see, shan't we?" was the enigmatic reply. James stepped into his home, gave a nod of farewell to his companion, and closed the door on said companion's relatively sedate bow.

He made his way up the stairs, removing his jacket and hat as he went. At the threshold of his bedroom, he reached for his blade only to find himself clasping a completely unfamiliar hilt. He unsheathed it and found himself holding the sauciest, certainly most naked mermaid he had ever encountered outside of a tattoo. If he weren't so traumatized by the thought of grasping this particular hilt, he might have marveled at the craftsmanship and the detail. As it was, he raced for his window and stuck his head out of it, and saw Jack sauntering in an irritatingly jaunty manner away from his house, James' good sword in his hand. He turned around to look at James in the window, offering a showy parrying move and flashing a distinctly golden grin at him.

"Looks like I'll have that chance after all, eh mate? Shall we say 8 of the clock, tomorrow eve, at the _Catt & Fiddle_?"

In his current state, James could only manage a disjointed, "Sparrow!... Wha – Jack! Come back here with my blade, you unmitigated rogue!"

To which Jack called back, "Very good, Jamie. See you then."

"It's _James_, damn you! James!" Jack's back had nothing to say to this last effort before James lapsed into speechlessness, and the pirate continued his swagger down the lane. James watched him until he turned the corner, then backed away from the window. He put the ostentatious blade back in his sword belt, resigning himself to a night with the brazen mermaid and another evening spent in the company of one Captain Jack Sparrow, who didn't need to be naked to be the most brazen creature, mythical or otherwise, to walk the earth.


End file.
